Wednesday, August 14, 2013

The jealous woman

She wasn't jealous of them. She was jealous of what they had – people. People to be with on a lazy Sunday afternoon and do stuff together, almost like a family, without the blood ties that bind you down. Instead, a family for the meeting of likeminded minds.

She had no people. And the realization bore down on her like a heavy weight, as though someone had climbed unto her shoulder and just sat there while she lugged him, a terrible heavy weight, as she moved about.
What was it about her, she thought. 

She read enough self-help crap on the internet to supposedly keep her sane. The 7 habits of highly effective people, the 10 things you do that brings you down, 5 things optimists do differently, 1 question you should ask yourself every day, 6 anwers happy people have that we don't.
Really, does this shit help anyone? If she was in the midst of an anxiety attack, would she stop, log on to the net and read one of these posts to make her feel better?
Or would she walk to her kitchen sink, pick up the knife sitting in its holder, imagine it grazing, no, cutting her skin, drawing blood. Thick, red, blood.
So what was it about her – that made her want to pick up that knife?
She didn’t really want to die. She wanted to feel pain. To feel alive. To scratch herself hard, and see the streaks across her wrist. The marks shouldn’t last the night, should disappear by morning. Is that all the guts she's got?
Why did she think herself so flawed, so used, so not worthy of love. Of kindness. Of compassion.
Her mind, reading those internet articles, tell her otherwise, of course. But deep down, she can’t get rid of the picture of her mouth closing in on his dick, a little at first, but then taking it down whole, right to the very end, till it feels like she's choking. Maybe she did choke a little, but he just holds her head down, she has no say. In that helpless moment, she does not feel fear, only need. Need for more.


Just Sayin... said...

Love this. I feel the same way

TwentySucking said...

I think you just wrote what many of us are just thinking aloud.

Sometimes, you don't necessarily miss the other person. You miss what you had with them. The laughs, the cuddles, the sex, the sunday mornings, the saturday nights.

And as much as you believe you're doing better - that emptiness is still there.

ms wonderland said...

Very good article..

Deep down you also undeniably knew you were too good for that dick ;)

An anxiety attack is confusing and scary. Maybe those self help articles aren't helpful, but neither is a monologue with the kitchen knife.

What is helpful? Hopefully the realization that you have the right people with you and for you.


Little Miss Angry said...

@Just Sayin @TwentySucking - thanks for your comments. glad to know these fits are not isolated.

@ms wonderland - ha. monologue with the kitchen knife. nicely put ;)